


if we make it out alive (from the depths of the sea)

by laurmanis



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurmanis/pseuds/laurmanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her sister's deafening wails echoed throughout the household's entirety, reminding Lauren of the figurative noose that has been secured around her neck since birth.</p><p>Her eyes wandered to the spare television buzzing incoherently, the regular content artificial and stale. Blaring horns expectantly invaded the melancholic atmosphere; the Capital's all too familiar death sentence flashing elegantly on the tiny screen.</p><p>'Get ready....for The 76th Hunger Games!'</p><p>Lauren swallowed the bile in her throat.</p><p>--<br/>Hunger Games AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, before i proceed onward, i would highly appreciate if you would take your time to read this note. I'm sure youve all heard about the senseless and undeniably atrocious racial attacks exhibited by fans (mainly those of C) against normani within the last few days. I can not begin to describe the amount of disappointment ive had for the fanbase and some of the girls in general for how they reacted towards the situation. normani is irrevocably one of faves in the group along side L, and the fact that people STILL find ways to demean and disregard her is absolutely disgusting. im tired of it and im tired of the media and fans in general trying to paint her as anything other than a sweet, dedicated, and confident woman. normani is BLACK and PROUD and BEAUTIFUL and no one can take that away ever. black woman are the strongest individuals on this planet and i will ALWAYS stand beside them in this oppresive society. we need to do better.
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy this cliche lmao. i checked for errors hopefully i caught them all fml

 

"It's today, isn't it?"

Lauren broke away from the journal in her hand, peering up at the inquisitive voice from across the room. Her sister stared on from the doorway, dull eyes still managing to maintain an innocent flash of amusement as she held onto a weak grin. Lauren noticed the way her sister's knuckles gripped onto the rough wood of the door frame - skin stripped white and engulfed in apprehension - and pits formed deep in her stomach.

Letting out a stiff sigh, the older sister shifted from her habitat, shutting the journal completely and rushing to hold Taylor's trembling hands in hers.

"Who told you that, mama?" Lauren attempted to mask the irritation in her speech, her younger sister's fleeting stability more important than the urge to throttle whoever plagued a _twelve year old_ with such worries.

Taylor sniffed suddenly, her bottom lip raw from earlier gnawing; the young girl's body remained painfully rigid, and Lauren's heart broke at her sister's determination to not succumb to a _complete breakdown._

"C-chris reminded me this morning.." Lauren growled lowly at this, mentally noting to reprimand her arrogant brother before the ceremony. "W-why do I h-have to do this, Lo?"

Lauren instinctually pulled the stuttering child into her chest, silently stroking her frazzled hair with maternal fingertips.

Her sister's deafening wails echoed throughout the household's entirety, reminding Lauren of the figurative noose that has been secured around her neck since birth.

Her eyes wandered to the spare television buzzing incoherently, the regular content artificial and stale. Blaring horns expectantly invaded the melancholic atmosphere; the Capital's all too familiar death sentence flashing elegantly on the tiny screen.

_Get ready....for The 76th Hunger Games!_

Lauren swallowed the bile in her throat.

\---

As it turned out, Lauren's luck seem to have diminished.

In hindsight, maybe she should have registered the signs: that one moody cloud stationed precariously over her residence, the pile of animal feces she just so happened to step in, or maybe even the sudden stumble she experienced on her way to the Reaping plaza.

She never believed in such spiritual delusions, but maybe it would have softened the blow to come.

When her name was broadcasted — incorrectly, of course — to all of Panem to glorify, the world around her seemed to blur. Lauren heard the faint screech of her frantic sister and stunned brother as she marched past, her steps ensnared in fatalism that she should have accepted since her birth.

Her breathing was ragged, dismal; the walk from the stands to her death sentence was like a continuous marathon, her lungs contracting and relaxing at a rate that could have generated respiratory failure.

She could only assume how much the drone on the pedestal savored the trudge, the capital servant smiling wickedly as she extended her hand in all her artificial glory.

(Lauren swatted the feigned sympathy away, earning her a theatrically shocked reaction and growls from the Peacekeepers.)

Lauren sucked in a painful breathe and turned once more to face the children of District 7 (and the attendees of her funeral). Tears threatened to fall from her peripheral vision, shaky breaths beginning to overtake her faux confidence. Out of all the eyes poring against hers, she could only focus on the hysterical blur of her sisters — Taylor's eyes mixed with levels of delirium and regret. The glint of Chris's enraged sorrow caught Lauren's eye next, the younger boy clenching his jaw to prevent any more hot tears from escaping his eyes. Drained of all vitality, Lauren directed her gaze to the concrete floor; she couldn't bare to witness the haunting look of her mother.

Apparently the boy contender had already been revealed; he was slummed over in a similar fashion to Lauren — stance dull and fists curled, his world ending before it even had the chance to blossom. (Lauren guessed he was no older than thirteen; she grimaced at the fact and swallowed hard.)

They were lead into the district's capital building, placed in solitude in what was known simply as the "Tribute Waiting Room", or as a Lauren called it: "The Prayers before the Casket."

(She recalls the time her friend — Luis — was sitting here when he was reaped over two years ago. Lauren had whispered worn apologies into his chest and stained his ragged polo with grimy tears. He smiled at her then, reminding her to keep her head high and always hope for the unexpected. Even satire was not stolen from his persona, the boy's ever so whimsical self chuckling at the thought of _hey, maybe I can actually take home this win, yeah?_ Lauren had snorted her anxieties away.)

(Luis had died two days into the event, impaled by a spear driven deep into his optimistic heart. Lauren wasn't home for days.)

Lauren sat rigidly on the cushion seat; though the smell of fresh bark and familiar pines filled the enclosed air, it was nothing more than stale scents and wilted foliage to the emerald-eyed teen. Tears were destined to fall if it weren't for the creaking of the wooden door, Taylor's chestnut hair peaking innocuously through the crack. In an instant, the younger Jauregui was latched onto Lauren's chest, her whimpers reminiscent of those faced this morning (though with more intensity). Lauren only soothed her fingers into Taylor's shaking bundles, a faint _shhhh_ trailing from her lips in order to mollify her younger sister. A forced cough interrupted the sisterly session, their mother choking back melodramatics and hysterics. Lauren shot her an empathetic smile, and the shattered mother melted into her daughters' embrace.

Her mom attempted to justify Chris's absence, but Lauren only shook her head in understanding. While her and Chris may differ on a variety of contrasting opinions, they shared an undeniable link to their emotions — connected, reactive, and explosive. If he was anything like her (and Lauren scoffs, because of course he is, _emotionally_ ), he was secluded in his own sanctum currently, stationed in the woods where all worlds dissipate and the only sound present was the hymns of the leaves. Lauren sympathized with her brother's actions, merely requesting to her mother that she'd tell Chris she loved him anyway. Her mother smiled for the first time through weary eyes.

Parting ways with Taylor was especially difficult. "You'll come back, right Lo?" Her voice quivered with uncertainty, as if the question itself was far too irrational to consider. Still, Lauren challenged fate and took both of Taylor's quaking hands into her's. "You won't have to worry about a thing princess," She leaned foreword to kiss the younger's forehead gently. "they're not going to get rid of me that easily."

It was pathetic how she could barely believe the words coming out of her mouth, but her sister's glimmer of hope within a smile made her lie seem like fact.

(It was still nothing more than an empty promise.)

(She felt even more disgusted.)

Lauren didn't particularly expect anymore visitors after her family; while popular in the community, she preferred her seclusion and serenity, not exactly forming the closest of bonds with her endless acquaintances.

So it's not far-fetched to say that she was absolutely stunned when Lucy tiptoed her way into the melancholic room.

\--  
_"Don't try to stop me, Lauren."_

_Confused, the young brunette stared helplessly at her best friend, the latter strapping a rugged sack against her back._

_"Lu, where are you going to go? Going outside the forest limi-"_

_"Save the mother lecture," Lucy hissed, venom dripping from her lips, "I know I can get apprehended in the woods. I don't care, Lauren!"_

_The Latina visibly stiffened, straining to break the collected composure she was holding. However, she knew this wasn't about her sentiments — Lucy was hurting, healing, and she need to be there to support her through it all._

_Even through the impulsive shifts._

_"Luis wouldn't want this-"_

_"Luis is fucking_ _dead." Lauren recoiled at the vehement bite in Lucy's tone, gulping at the thin wire beneath her footing._

_"I'm tired of living so...willingly under this system, Lo." Lucy growled, kicking the eroded earth in a frustrated fit. "We can fight and rebel and protest secretly all we want, but nothing is going to change."_

_"That's not true..Lu, we just need to keep-"_

_"Keep doing_ **_what_ ** _, exactly?!" Eyes fierce and intimidating and so, so pained with grief that Lauren couldn't blame the tears that started cascading down the young girl's cheeks. "Keep..Keep mindlessly engaging in their battle royale and pray to some ancient God that no one pays heed to anymore that this ends soon? Is that what you want me to do?"  Heavy tears blanketed the ground below, Lucy's face painted in affronted sorrow. Lauren chewed her lip, unsure of what to say to quell the earthquake in front of her._

_Lucy was a caged animal — thirsting for the notion of freedom but falling to madness in return. Lauren knew, for she was the same as her best friend; she knew the hunger and desire for freedom – actual, boundless freedom that seemed to only exist in the faded history books stacked beneath her flooring. It resided in her gut, an indomitable flame smoldering that would occasionally course throughout her veins in flurry unmatched by any of the wood work she would engage in. An imagined life-force — a defense response to the vitality snatched away by the vicious hands of the Capital rule._

_Lauren understood Lucy's plight, which is why the young brunette pulled her companion into a reassuring hug, squeezing tighter as she felt the hot tears dripping into her shoulder._

_"I know it is frustrating mama, but," Pulling away, she focused on Lucy's bloodshot eyes, her weakened stance continuing to pull at Lauren's heart, "we can't just live off impulsive endeavors. Emotional thinking can only get you so far; to fight this, we need more than innate heart and ingenuity. We need...."_

_Lauren paused, biting her lip pensively in order to recall the word she desired. Within seconds, the figurative lightbulb clicked._

_"Resolve."_

_\--_

_Lauren watched Lucy slip away until their bond is nothing more than faint pulse._

_But, that is okay._

_If Lucy could recover without her, than she was already on the favorable path._

\--

 

"Lucy?" Lauren gasped in complete disbelief, as if the girl in front of her was pure imagination. In confirmation, the light brunette returned a strained smile, pulling the perplexed girl into her embrace — a mundane gesture that unleashed the waterfall from Lauren's eyes and sent shivers down her spine.

Loving _shhh_ s serenaded the small space, Lauren clinging onto the visiting girl with fervor and obsession. She didn't want to go — she didn't want to be _slaughtered._ Lucy had apparently guided her back onto the provided couch, but Lauren couldn't spare the attention; rivers cascaded down her cheeks and her screams of _why why why_ echoed eerily off the stale walls. But Lucy continued to hold her, console her — she rubbed her back when her tears began to relent and placed delicate kisses on her forehead.

"Lu...I really can't do this." She sniffed, running an already soaked arm across her eyes once more. Luckily, her revived friend didn't scrutinize her with the false pity expressed by virtually everyone; her eyes exuded empathy and support, dainty hands wrapping furtively into Lauren's.

"You will, Lo." Demure rubs sent euphoria through her being, diminishing her worries for even just those fleeting minutes. "You always forget how valiant of a gal you are."

Lauren chuckled bitterly at that, cynicism overflowing and tears beginning to sting the corners of her eyes once more. A heated huff and sharp turn later, she was facing Lucy directly in the eyes, intimidated by the intense resolve residing in her pupils.

"Don't give me that shit, Lauren." The smaller girl hissed, albeit with no anger present; if anything, Lauren could assume her old friend was _terrified._ From the decaying browns that swirled unforgivingly with desolate gray, Lauren witnessed the underlying grief circulating through Lucy's system; she wasn't just losing her — a friend she has confided in since they could crawl — but she was losing the last connection she had to the sour world that took away her father, friends, and now her best friend.

(Or, that's what Lauren assumed; maybe the cloud of her impending doom was looming far too close for her to be thinking rationally.)

(But it was still a nice thought nonetheless.)

"You.." Lucy's cracking voice dispelled the Latina's brief reverie, and Lauren refocused her eyes on the frontward girl (who, even after just mere minutes, was already beginning to shred her external barrier.) "..y-you can't just give up this easily, Lauren! That's not the Jauregui I grew up with!"

Lauren bit back a caustic retort, silently urging her to continue.

"You..understand so much Lauren — things that only I can ever dream of hoping to comprehend." She watched as Lucy fiddled with her hidden necklace loosely, twirling her free fingers in between the metal. "You were the one who taught me there was more to life than living under the Capitol's terror."

Lucy pulled the necklace from within her t-shirt, pinching the base of the pendant to hold up in front of Lauren's vision. Before her lay a crafted dragonfly, carved from simple wood and undoubtedly from Lucy's own hands; what caught her interest, however, was the transparent wings that expanded from its wooden core, their surface brimming with a series of faded colors of the incoming light of the single window. Peeking at Lucy for permission, Lauren graced her hands gently over the intricate pattern, afraid that it would shatter upon contact.

"They say dragonflies are the holders of all that is absolute in the world; they resonate with actualization, like, the ability to be able maintain your inner attributes in perfect balance. " Lucy chuckled, reaching behind to unlock the clasp from her nape. Reaching for Lauren's (impressively) sweaty hand, Lucy dropped the necklace into her palms; her emerald eyes filled with astonishment, drifting up to stare into Lucy's birch ones. The insightful girl only quipped innocently. "Or, some bullshit like that."

"Lucy I..."

"You are a dogged dragonfly, miss Lauren Jauregui." Lucy softly interrupted, rising gracefully and turning towards the nearby houseplant. "Your wings may be tainted and painted a dull gray, battered to the limit and forced into more. Yet, you still fly and persist, your wings beginning to shine in what many would see as redundant tenacity," Lauren watched as the tan girl redirected her eyes to hers once more, her tongue caught in a wave of Lucy's enthralling monologue.

"But, I see it..as renewed hope and resolve."

Lauren remained tongue-tied, utterly speechless at Lucy's declaration. Mutually hearing the imperious footprints approaching, Lauren sat placidly as her friend secured the necklace around her neck. "A present of luck from me to you, Lo."

Pushing past the almost intruding Peacekeepers, Lucy reconnected with Lauren once more, humble forests colliding with a now turbulent rainforest within Lauren's eyes.

With a parting smirk, Lucy disappeared, and Lauren was left with a smoldering resolve deep in her stomach.

xx

The journey from the majestic forests of District 7 to the bustling Capital was nothing but a mere waste of half the day to the disgruntled teen. Lauren sat cross-legged against the window, removed and avoidant from the remaining party trapped within the train car.

Not that it was entirely Lauren's fault — so _maybe_ she shoved Braudly (Brad? Brady? Brute? She honestly failed to remember) the minute he attempted to converse with her, but it's not like anyone else was being reasonably cooperative. Her mentor lay unresponsive on the expensive couch, knocked out from some degree of intoxication; their escort was too busy chatting away as if this was some typical house party in the works and the Avoxes did little to make the atmosphere any less welcoming.

Sighing audibly, the Latina trudged to her dorm room, insistent on watching the Reaping's broadcast in order to judge her odds as of right now (which were probably nonexistent, she grimaced, but that's besides the point.)

If her team wasn't going to support the sinking ship, why should she drown with them?

Lauren stared at the remote in her hand and exhaled with conviction, flipping on the elegant flatscreen to the Capital's superficial spectacle.

Each Reaping was unique in its own setting — the beginning districts sharing more enthusiasm and merriment than their latter peers. Lauren studied the mannerisms with each rundown of the factions; from the glamorous, almost fictional realm of District 1 to the desolate fields of poverty and famine that plagues District 12, Lauren absorbed all she could about her future competitors.

( _Maybe,_ she plotted, eyes glimmering with ideas, _we could all just assemble a coup or something.)_

 _(_ A bitter snort escaped her lips and she refocused program.)

After what seemed like hours, the recorded footage of the Reapings began to playback; Lauren scooted closer to the screen, eager to identify who would be seen in the arena with her.

District 1 was (unsurprisingly) exuberant, she noted, taking in their gladiatorial chants and mantra for the games. Lauren felt the familiar ebb of discomfort tugging at her stomach, but she ignored it as the tributes appeared on screen. They were your typical wealthy children: strikingly embellished with gold and diamonds, eyes a sharp cerulean, and hair slicked back to maintain regency. The male tribute stood tall and prideful, all brown hair and dusty freckles aligning his cheeks; the female no different, minus the brown hair for phoenix red and skin pale and almost synthetic.

(Lauren glanced at her own skin and shrugged smugly; at least she had a little tan.)

While the district may have caught her eye aesthetically, she found no real threat in the tributes, namely due to their ages above anything. Although probably foolish, she _really_ couldn't imagine two fourteen year olds to do much damage; Lauren resigns to document them nonetheless, hoping that her suspicions are actually correct this time around.

District 2 is displayed next in a similar manner to its predecessor, although the perceptive teen did sense a subtle level of uncertainty lingering amongst the crowd. Body language was lively, but painfully so, seemingly forceful and restrained; Peacekeepers were rigid and alert, as if some threat was looming above the square prepared to pounce. Perplexed, Lauren's eyes scrounged the audience in search of a cause, hoping to spot some splitting anomaly that may answer her questions.

That is, until she saw the female tribute strut onto the main platform.

Her figure exuded unmatched confidence, chocolate skin glowing against the bearing sun; tight midnight curls danced along the gentle wind as she marched across the stage towards the escort, gait imperious and chestnut eyes glistening in satisfaction at her enrollment. The camera purposely zoomed in on her formidable figure, the dark-skinned beauty showcasing toned muscles in both her upper arms and thighs. Lauren gulped timidly, unsure of what to think of the girl besides the fact she was either: 1. Scared absolutely shitless of her, or 2. drop-dead gorgeous.

Enigmatic (and threatening) aura aside, Lauren mentally stored the name conveniently showcased on the bottom left of the screen.

_Normani Kordei Hamilton. District 2 Tribute_

She ignored the bubbling fits of doubt in her stomach and continued to focus on the program.

District 3's ceremony was nothing noteworthy (as most years dictated) —their citizens characteristically solemn yet jittery as they waited for fate's noose. Lauren felt pity for the innocent state; the district's main focus was electrical engineering and operation, hosting professions that included decorating the Capital in it's luminescent grandeur. None of its citizens were conditioned for fighting; at least Lauren could _say_ she had experience in swinging a violent weapon around.

 _These kids?_ She scoffed humorously.

The male tribute had already situated himself on the main stage, mouse stature and quivering demeanor to boot. Soon enough, his female counterpart began to (clumsily) grace the pathway; Lauren smiled at the dedicated composure exhibited by the rather small female, her face constricted in faux-collectiveness, hands curled inward to maintain the nerves surely determined to overtake her body. Something about her intrigued Lauren immensely; from the way her dirty-blonde locks wrapped her form in a protective shield to the maternal eyes that were nurturing flames of resolve only recognizable to her.

_Allyson Brooke Hernandez. District 3 Tribute._

( _Noted_.)

As the screen panned across the coronation that was District 4's reapings, she began to notice just how similar the "career districts" truly were. Of course Lauren recognized the camaraderie amongst the three main parties throughout the games, she just never cared long enough to actually witness their celebrations of what was, you know, their death sentence. Superficial and bloodthirsty to the roots, she realized just _why_ Careers mended so easily together.

( _Whatever._ She snorted, ignoring the acid clawing at her throat. _They're only formidable as a team. Alone, they are like any other tribute.)_

Male tribute decked in all his typical sexualized glory (there was only so many times Lauren could witness the shirtless male in a given lifetime), he was near toppled as his female counterpart burst onto stage.

Actually, no — comparing them was unjust.

Golden-blonde strains akin to sol and a personality boisterous and prideful, her presence buried the lifeless male in comparison. Her chants echoed throughout the crowd, an unbreakable grin stretched from each ear as she pranced across the regal stage, heels sending shockwaves across the pavement. Lauren sensed a childish yet powerful disposition from her, similar to the bear cubs she would see in the forest — humble, almost domestic at first glance, but easily capable of retaliation if provoked.

_Dinah-Jane Hansen. District 4 Tribute._

Lauren shut off the television.

\--

Two hours of personal persuasion later and Lauren was down to the last ceremony in District 12. The rest of the districts had passed almost monotonously after the introduction, save for a few special cases along the way (and of course, her own filmed reaping.) She was tempted to dismiss the coal state's ceremony, resigning that no kind of champion would come from the famine-stricken area (because _really_ no one has since after she was born.)

She decided to endure one last stomach ache in order to safely say she checked out _all_ of her competition, even if some of them has less favorable odds than her.

Unexpectedly, the camera honed in on chocolate eyes that sent strange serenity down her spine, as if she was staring back into her familiar paradise of the covert thickets. She waved and smiled with genuineness, something Lauren absorbed with perplexed astonishment; the young mystery pranced through the spilt pathway, boundless energy and – dare Lauren say it – actual _optimism_  radiating from her form. Lauren was dumbfounded – wholesomely, and disturbingly, dumbfounded. _How?_ The scene refused to rationalize in her head. This was _District 12,_ an area foreign to exaggerated luxuries and privileges, and consumed by the apathetic grays that constantly loomed over the coal village. Never in her life had she seen such _life_ erupt in such lifeless community. Hell, District 7 was offered more commodities and pleasures; Lauren suddenly felt so snobbish for ever complaining about the hardships defining her upbringing. 

Unexpectedly, a smaller figure – a child no older than eight years of age – dashed onto the dirt path, sprinting toward the enigmatic tribute almost climbing up the cobblestone stairs. For a brief second, the girl's smile faltered, the tiniest quiver of the lip indicating that it was all an elaborate front towards the crowds. The child crashed into the girl, barreling her onto the ground and nuzzling into her chest, a scene that tugged at Lauren's own ties to her sister. She watched as the camera zoomed in on the two, the older girl carefully stroking the sobbing child reassuringly, that signature grin still maintaining its validity. Lauren saw her murmur incoherent wishes to the child, to which her face, although still drenched in sticky tears, soon broke into a resigned smile; a mutual understanding, a mutual promise.

(Lauren thought of her own promise to Taylor, the numbing sting all but routine now.)

If there was anything Lauren could compare this tribute to (because truly, she believes in the metaphorical for everything,) she would maybe be like the deers sometimes visible through the barrier at the edge of the woods. Innocent, keen, dainty – perhaps that would succeed in describing her outside appearance. As for her internal workings, Lauren was clueless; her uncanny optimism was false, and inside lay something far more intricate that she could only decode once the games officially begin.

_Camila Cabello. District 12 Tribute._

For now, she would be as fleeting as the butterflies outside Lauren's house every spring – so mesmerizingly mysterious, she did not dare choose to touch one.

xx

A sharp jab to her side startled Lauren out of her power-nap, jade eyes panicked and sweat accumulating on the upper side of her forehead. What she registered as a threat was really Braudly staring at her with a cocked brow and annoyed expression.

"Uh..right, we're here." He muttered, immediately escaping the awkward atmosphere before Lauren could even muster a sound. She sighed, reluctantly scooting off the couch and making her way towards the door. Before trudging towards the exit, she took one last glance at the compartment; one last look at normalcy before the twisted grandeur overtakes her lifestyle.

As if it was impatient enough, an abrupt _thud_ shifted Lauren's gaze to the exit.

The exit in which the dark-skinned tribute from District 2 currently barricaded.

"Lauren Jauregui, from District 7 right?" Her voice was breathless, eager. Lauren gulped audibly.

"Um...maybe?" She refuted, apprehension riding off her tongue.

Normani flashed back an amiable smirk.

"Excellent. Welcome to the last Hunger Games."

 

 


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait! hope u enjoy :^) sorry for errors im rly tired haha

Lauren blinked, the baffling statement already lost in her mind.

"The...the what?" She stuttered, transfixed on the way Normani chuckles almost endearingly.

"You're aware of the composition of roses, correct?"

Lauren nodded slowly, unsure of the correlation between a fabled flower and a bloodbath. (' _Well, they are both red....nevermind.')_

Normani paced around the compartment, her eyes absent but equally intense with an mysterious flame. "Roses are beautiful alone, right? Delicate, luxurious, elegant..."She turned to Lauren abruptly, eyes flashing a familiar passion of justice.

"... _fragile."_ Normani hissed lowly, her hand forming a tense fist.

"You see, roses are beautifully pathetic things, and as such, they require protection from the thorns decorating their skin. But what if," she paused, mindlessly circling her wrist through a contemplative smirk, " those thorns decide to defy the rose's genes? What is a rose without its thorns defending its exterior anyway." She snickered, walking back to lean again the doorframe.

"Stability is all thats necessary to keep a dazzling rose alive; the minute its stability weakens...it's picked and pulled and reduced to nothing more than a memory." Lauren connected with Normani's eyes, brown swirls shifting in a calculative flurry that matched her own storming emeralds. "That's all an institution is: a malleable rose with stable thorns."

She was utterly perplexed, but certainly intrigued.

"When the time comes, Miss Lauren," Normani turned, her dark curls cascading down her backside, the afternoon sunlight encasing her in a blinding glow. "I need to know wether you'll be a thorn.." She jumps off the train, sending Lauren one last amiable glance and rewarding smile.

"...or just another petal."

Before Lauren could muster a response, the dark-skinned tribute had pranced off, leaving the bumbling Latina alone in the empty compartment. She blinked several times to regain her footing, unsure of the hidden proposition bestowed to her by Normani. _Why me?_ She wondered to herself; Lauren was not as defined physically as Normani's career counterparts, nor was she as strategic or competent or _hell_ even mentally prepared to be in these games and –

"Hey," Braudley suddenly coughed, awkwardly situated by the doorway. " you coming or?"

Shaking her head anxiously, Lauren sighed in agreement. "I am, um..."

"Brad. It's Brad."

She nodded absently, feigning attention. "Right."

Normani's words continued to echo in her mind as she walked into the unforgiving blackness that would transport her away from the only world she ever knew.

A thorn smothered in overwhelming petals.

\--

Bright lights invaded Lauren's eyesight, her vision narrowed and retinas singeing. She could feel herself evading the situation, barely registering the faceless hands that grabbed at her wrists and guided her towards the medical bed. Needles, wires, and numerous other instruments prodded at her skin, but she had no direct sensation to it. She just closed her eyes and chewed at her lip, hoping that the procedure would dissipate as soon as she decided to reopen her eyes.

Luckily, when she did, it was; but foreign blue eyes were staring worriedly right at her.

"Oh, finally! You're awake!" The woman chirped, her voice mellifluous and oddly refreshing to hear. She sounded... _.normal_ , Lauren resolved. Not artificial as most Capitol droids seemed to be. The lithe woman planted a chair in front of her, seating herself behind the backside and resting her arms on the top. Her pale blue eyes were sparkling with interest, and Lauren could not decipher wether it was a little disturbing or humbling.

(Probably both.)

"Sooo, missy, how was the trip? Painless, I hope." Lauren couldn't help but laugh quietly along with her. She wasn't ready to respond, though.

"I know, I know; just another Capitol fool trying to empathize with ya'. I get the skepticism, trust me." She tousled her translucent blonde hair, the thin treads falling waveless at her neck. "My name is Zara, by the way. Your official stylist." Lauren watched her pristine hand extend foreword, gripping onto it politely after a few seconds.

"Nice to uh, meet you. Given the circumstances." Lauren attempted a genuine smile, content that Zara managed to reciprocate it. The stylist rose from her seat and paced over to her merchandise – a plain table embellished with endless cosmetics, sketchbooks, and equipment. Picking up a rather cluttered notebook, Zara returned to her original position, the ragged book placed innocently on Lauren's lap. She titled her head in confusion. "What is...?"

Zara beamed. "Some of your outfit choices silly! I went ahead and designed some early choices the minute I saw your reaping." Lauren cocked a brow subtly before gently opening the worn book, careful not to let any of the disheveled pages escape (and by god, was disheveled an understatement.)

Flipping through sketches mindlessly, Lauren jumped when Zara slammed her hand down on a specific page. Heart attack aside, she gazed at the costume below, eyes widening in realization at the final sketch of her opening outfit.

"Wait.." Lauren suddenly looked back up, watching Zara's face unfold into an impish, satisfied smile that bore an uncanny resemblance to the enigmatic tribute mere moments before.

"Please, Lauren," Zara hummed, circling her fingers along the edge of the page, "let's make this debut one to inspire, yeah?" Like with Normani, Lauren felt an unmatched aura beginning to circulate throughout the steel room, an underlying premise that was on the verge of erupting into an indomitable inferno.

"I am not an icon," Lauren growled defiantly, anxiety picking at her sickly stomach, " I don't understand how people formulate this...unrealistic standard of me in mere minutes." ( _And after considerable years_ , but she doesn't mention that.) It made absolute no sense to her; everyone expected such grand ideas and acts from her since a young age, but _what_ exactly was so unique about _her_? She gripped the fabric angrily, intrusive thoughts starting to swarm in her mind and overtake her conscious, as if the thought of being murdered for sport wasn't enough of a burden on her mind.

Tousling her (formerly) combed locks in rising irritation, she suddenly heard Zara giggling softly; her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

"Sweetie, sweetie please," She laughed, maneuvering to place her hand on top of Lauren's, who watched pensively, "let me ask you this: does a single thorn hurt?"

_There it is again. The thorns._

She stumbled pathetically, slightly taken back by the question despite already experiencing a prior situation. "Um...yes, I suppose? I mean they're nonexistent outside the Capital so.."

Zara dismissed her claim, waving her hand indignantly. "Besides the point, sweetheart." She reclaimed her sketchbook, turned to an empty sheet, and began to steadily sketch out her point. A grayscale rose lay delicately drawn in front of the emerald-eyed teen, its stem thornless and exposed. She titled her head in a faux-confusion, hoping to coax Zara to elaborate on what Normani failed to decode.

Luckily, she does exactly that. "So if one thorn were to just, " She immediately stabbed her pencil through one of the petals, causing Lauren to jolt at the sudden violence, " leave a tear. Inconsequential to the whole flower, right?" Judging by the size of the artwork and comparing it to the small tear on one of the rose petals, Lauren agreed that the damage was relatively small. She nodded her head and Zara returned with cunningness embedded her grin.  
  
  
"So, what if," She hummed, raising her pencil above the paper menacingly once more, "there were more thorns in the thicket?" The sharp edge collided with the frail sheet, stabs and tears and the agonizing _rip rip rip_ of each drawn petal undulating sonically throughout the metal room. By the time Zara was finished, face slightly glowing through perspiration and gaze briefly dazed, the paper was hardly intact; the rose was littered in graphite holes, "thorns" piercing each section of the once tranquil flower, torn to shreds by the very things that were designed to protect it.

Her eyes lit up in realization, her hunch more than confirmed and justified. She turned her head back to the gleeful stylist, who was already sporting a satisfied smirk. "When stability weakens...?" She offered, extending a folded scrap in her direction.

Grasping it, Lauren opened it gingerly before gasping discreetly; breathing deep in resolve, her eyes were ravaging again, and she turned back to Zara with a confident smirk.

_It becomes a memory._

\--

Lauren grimaced, fidgeting in her attire and constantly moving her hair around (to which at one point Zara smacked her harshly on the wrist, ordering her to sit still for "at least five seconds." Lauren obliged, indignant and still incredibly uncomfortable.)

Brad (she finally remembered) was already prepped and prepared for national appraisal, his own male stylist adding finishing touches on the outfit.

She wondered if he knew as well, and if he did, how amazingly he was taking it because she honestly felt as she would pass out at any given second. Her body felt like static and everything seemed to be hyper-sensitive around her, the same way she felt when her name was reaped only a few days prior.

Inhaling slow, she lazily began to observe the outer environment, ghosting over the multitude of stylists and bedazzled tributes in their personalized stations. Costumes flared in a myriad of colors and themes; in all honesty, it was making her eyes bulge and head spin and she wished she was still located in her safe haven of the forest. Colors there were always natural and basked in a faded olive hue, not painfully artificial and flashy like they were here.

(Lauren peeked down at her own attire again, smiling gratefully at the easy colors mixing elegantly. At least Zara understood her own image as much as she did.)

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed familiar chocolate hair pass, her locks curled down to the midline of her back. Lauren turned her head to catch the District 12 tribute (Camila, she recalls) stepping into the coal chariot, her face composed and defined. A second passed and Camila's eyes flashed up to collide with Lauren's in a glare, the latter chilled by the amount of animosity the girl is exuding right now.

Lauren turned back upfront immediately, shaking off the almost lethal glare and focusing on maintaining her own composure during the parade. Brad nudged her with a silent _'you good?'_ and she gave the younger boy a firm thumbs up, despite the fact that she nearly felt like throwing up on the poor horses in front of them.

Zara tapped on her shoulder, causing the Latina to witness her stylist emit two confident thumbs and a hopeful smile. She returned with a forced grin and Zara could only chuckle at the pathetic attempt, mouthing a refreshing "good luck, dragonfly" and tapping on her shoulders before the music began to play and the televisions within the hub flashed in operation.

Lauren took one last final breath, her final exhale dispelling all the nerves from her exterior and fortifying a stoic, regal composition. The televisions blared with excitement, the first three district chariots striding through the main crowd. She noticed Normani aboard her own, curls blowing beautifully in the wind and her valkyrie-inspired silver dress and cape transforming her into a mythical goddesses of the past. Interestingly, white roses decorated Normani's neck, the floral additions detaching themselves from the tribute and flowing delicately along the wind, some even managing to make into the patron stands for them to fawn over.

One petal landed neatly on the head of the District 3 chariot, a smaller hand reaching to grasp it between her fingers. _Allyson,_ Lauren remembered, as she watched the girl giggle innocently and plant a kiss on the freed petal before letting it catch flight once more. Her chestnut locks were wrapped up in an intricate bun, dainty curls falling to cup her round cheeks and cheeky smile. Ally was full of exuberance, waving to the reactive crowd and exhibiting unmatched joy and, incredibly, love. Lauren didn't understand it, but she's been intrigued of Ally's little maternal front ever since the reapings; there is more than just her polite aura and sunshine smiles. In fact, as her arms raised up to wave again, she noticed the vine bracelet snaking around and up her forearm; golden roses embellished the bracelet and allowed it to shine vividly against the variations of color throughout the ceremony. _She was involved as well._

Lauren attempted to eye Zara from the sidelines, but the preppy stylist was nowhere to be seen; the teen grumbled and turned her attention back to the screen, flinching when her carriage unexpectedly moved as the next three chariots left. She saw the gregarious blonde from District 4 thrust her fist into the air, her hair flowing like an ocean sunset and her eyes a matching golden brown.

Dinah and her partner tribute had been given Atlantean-inspired looks, consisting of one-piece suits and a translucent asymmetrical wrap secured around Dinah's waist. Regal ornaments and jewelry dangle from practically every curve of their bodies – from slender cuffs to hip chains secured around their navels. The camera zoomed in immediately on Dinah's face, her expression animated and dominating against the various crowds; Lauren noticed a few pale peach petals fall from Dinah's bushy locks, the fallen flowers interwoven into the endless curls and golden streaks.

She couldn't exactly conclude if the petals belonged to another colored rose – District 4 was renowned in sometimes including waterlilies and other aquatic flora with their tribute's opening apparel. The addition of another floral asset could simply be a coincidence, and Lauren reluctantly writes the blonde tribute off the list of Normani's potential recruits, even if she would be an advantageous consideration.

(Lauren was still unsure if her involvement was necessary – knowing so little, would she even have an impact in something so possibly universal? She snorted at the thought.)

She's shaken out of her reverie when the carriage shifts aggressively, the horses gearing into motion and driving the two into the blinding light. It reminded Lauren of when she first arrived, except this time, instead of countless needles and low murmuring, the ground was vibrating from the pure amount of roars and chants. Lauren scanned all the sections, endless amounts of Capital elite chanting her district's name religiously; it made her uncomfortable – as if she was just another insentient pawn – and she steadied herself quickly before indulging the crowd with a comfortable smile.

Lauren's dress began at the neck, bold obsidian snaked around her form to cover her feet entirely in a frilled manner. Her back transitions to a flimsy cape covering her entire backside, naked skin underneath while the bottom portion continues to flare smoky brown mixing with black, the fading sun causing the fabric to glitter vibrantly. Lauren breathed in a reassuring sigh, gripping the loose cape on her shoulder's hesitantly; _there was no turning back after this,_ she resolved _,_ slowing beginning to rip the slim fabric from her neck.

Lauren felt all eyes on her as she tore the fabric away, the wrap unveiling a structure of intricate patterns that form the image of standard rose against her pale backside. Its from there that two transparent streams unravel themselves from the top of her shoulders to the outer frills of her dress. Invasive light bombards the iridescent material, its colors shining endlessly across the intercourse and illuminating her in an almost crystal-like glow. A natural emerald in a flood of artificial elements.

The crowed erupted with applause, transfixed by the magnificent colors and the show-stopping display; Lauren felt herself flush under the unprecedented appraise, but she continued to blow empty kisses and smiles regardless. She felt her stature magnify, despite feeling so minuscule and overwhelmed moments before; the audience roared for her just as much as they did for the careers, and that was a feat in itself.

As her carriage parked next to the District 5 chariot, she directed her eyes to the large screens displaying the ceremony and — _oh._

The District 12 tributes were decorated in obsidian, their posture esteemed and poised — threatening and engaging; a firm contrast to the weakened state they were presented at during the reapings. Lauren honed in on the brunette mystery herself, the camera zooming in on her stoic expression and jarring glare. Lauren couldn't pinpoint it, but something about the foreign disposition of the female tribute paranoid her, subtle chills gripping at her spine.

What interested her the most was the black roses that extended out the bow of her back — those illusive blue butterflies intertwining with the petals almost sinfully, as if it was a sour omen.

\--

Lauren collapsed against the side of the elevator, skin tempered and chest pulsing as the adrenaline began to wear down.

The rest of the ceremony followed as routine — President Snow "congratulated" the contestants on their "shocking" opportunity to fight for such "honorable" reasons, and then dismissed the tributes to their dormitories. Lauren tuned out the entire speech, nervous that she would puke mid-way and make an even bigger mockery of herself.

Now she's alone in this frigid elevator because company _really_ seemed to irritate her senses and she desired a space where she could just _breathe._

Although, that idea was instantly cut short when familiar brown skin and motherly eyes appeared in front of the opening doors. Lauren gazed at the two tributes awkwardly, opting for a passive wave before the shorter of the two launched herself into her body. Normani stepped into the small space with a giggle, sealing the door and leaning against the wall.

"Sooooo, _you're_ the emerald beauty from District 7!" The little dirty-blonde (Ally? She believed) exclaimed amiably, looking up at her with celestial eyes and loving grin. Lauren blushed at the subtle compliment, turning her head to raise an eyebrow and actually snicker at the flushed expression Normani returned.

"Yeah, yeah don't get cocky about it, Lauren. I forgot your name the first few hours after seeing your reaping." Ally walked back over to Normani's side at that point, chuckling at her slyly and interlocking their arms. "More like she just _looooooved_ how wonderfully green your eyes were!" She said, much to Normani's obvious chagrin. Lauren laughed stiffly at the interaction, not because she was disapproving of their presence, but mainly due to the fact that she had _no clue why they came to her in the first place._

Normani must have sensed her unease, because she immediately retracted her playful aura, returning with a more serious, business-orientated facet; Ally threw away her initial friendliness too, donning something more stern and commanding. Together, they appeared to be imperial — a duo unstoppable to any mortal force and it honestly terrified her; _how_ was she supposed to compete with this?

"We don't have enough time for the run down, but I need you to know that training is crucial," Normani said, staring fiercely into Lauren's eyes, "with that being said, communication will have to be sparse to avoid suspicion."

Lauren titled her head at this, but Ally confirmed her concerns. "It is unusual for non-Careers and Careers to interact really," Ally huffs, obviously alluding to a frustrating flaw in their plan, "so we'll have to be strategic in conversing. You and I, Lauren, could talk no problem, but interaction between Manibear and I would be scrutinized. Get it?" Lauren nodded, grinning subtly as Normani elbowed the smaller companion in the side for the sudden use of the nickname, the latter shooting her an affronted glare.

"Moving on," Normani chuckled, "the same goes with me: I can communicate with Dinah no problem and-"

"Dinah's on it as well?" Lauren inquired loudly, slapping her hands over her mouth when she realized her place. However, the duo only gave her easy smiles. 

"Yes! Normani and I have been pretty busy enacting this..." Ally drawled off, a hum in her step as she swayed on her feet. "We have a decent following, but many of the tributes and mentors are still adverse to the idea, as I can tell you are as well." Normani observed perceptively, making Lauren flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry," She mumbled weakly, only to see Normani wave her down with an understanding look. 

"You'll see soon, Miss Lo." The elevator door opened abruptly and Normani sent the two remaining bodies a polite wave and grin before disappearing behind the silver doors. 

(Lauren witnessed the soft expression adorning Ally's face as Normani left the area, her own heart aching as she realized this was the same look she gave Luis before his untimely death.)

(She didn't want them to meet the same fate.)

"Ally," She vocalized suddenly, earning her a confused glance from the smaller tribute, "are you two sure that it'll succeed?" Lauren doesn't enjoy the way storm clouds form briefly in Ally's humble eyes, but she is quick to shake it off and return with a conflagration rooted in her brown eyes. 

 

"Things will be shaky, but all good is rewarded Lauren," The doors open once more and Ally stepped out languidly, turning and bestowing Lauren with a signature smile, "you just have to let it blossom." 

And with that, Ally disappeared, and Lauren felt that familiar throb in the crevice of her gut.

_Resolve was the seed._

\--

Lauren is sprawled out in her designer bed, courtesy of the devil themselves. She stared up mindlessly at the open darkness, inwardly wishing that it would consume her, drown her – assist in her own demise because _honestly_ she was-

Chaotic static proliferated the small room as the electronic screen behind her convulsed and sputtered, a once peaceful display of a forest now shifted to gargling murmurs and glitching.

Lauren could only gaze in pure astonishment when a familiar face popped up on the large screen.

_"Ally, how much time do we have"_ Normani demanded, anxiety unexpected in her voice.

Lauren watched as Normani touched her earpiece briefly, exhaled a grave sigh, and proceeded on with her speech.

_"Hello, tributes; I don't have much time, but I'm sure you've all heard of what we are planning to attempt."_

Green eyes were focused all on the powerful brunette, her own lips quirking up in a smile when Normani sold her next sentence.

_"We are shutting this down."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a forewarning: pace will be fast in order to get to the games, where things will get more convoluted abd intricate. i do not intend this to be super long but long enough that it will satify yall hopefully. anyway, sorry if this was bland, my writing has been :/


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: fixed up a couple of teeny errors lmao....enjoy again!

 

Normani's face constantly crackled and hissed, the screen erupting into static fits as it fought to remain active on the hijacked system.

The dark-skinned tribute huffed in frustration, her expression contorted in apprehension (although that seemed to have been a slip of emotion; she returned with a empowering flame, much to Lauren's awe.)

 _"W..we....have....lit...time, tributes."_ Normani's voice filtered in and out like a strainer, some of it coming in smoothly while other parts were consumed by the rising static.

" _These games will be significantly different this year_ ," she continued ominously, " _we have the capabilities of shutting down the arena and making haste for the grand finale."_ Normani's eyes lacked a moon – dark eyes enchantingly alluring from stoic passion. The video frizzled and cut out once more, the high-tech room falling into weighted silence. Another _buzz buzz buzz_ and some static, and Normani's silky voice filled the air for the last time.

 _"No...No..Mor...Time. Remember.....'It Becomes A Memory.'...."_ And the room was hushed into eerie silence.

Lauren could feel the forces of fate balancing newfound gravity on her shoulders, as if they were scales of judgement battling for dominance over her mental state.

On one scale, she is the innate revolutionary – with passion so volatile and untamed, proper training could present her with the opportunity for liberation. To escape that the cage that has been holding her hostage and forcing her to starve until she is one of their own wilting gardens.

In this scenario, she can see Lucy beaming for the first time in years and Normani and Ally basking in their fruitful victory; hell, she can even see Dinah's exuberance blossom to its full potential, and the elusive Camila relaxing in the rising sun's motherly glow.

(Tears drip down furtively across her freckled cheek, Lauren perplexed at the sudden release of emotions. Normalcy was so foreign, it was almost too ridiculous to imagine.)

On the other scale, Lauren saw herself bleeding from the wound in her abdomen, her green eyes drained to solemn gray and her body curled in submission. From a distance, the revolution continues on, their cries of victory permeating the area, electrifying the atmosphere and spreading the flame.

In this scenario, Lauren saw herself for what she was – the deluded fool who was in over her own head. Forgotten and tarnished, she was consumed by the rebellion's fire when she had little of her own; the smoldering flame that never had a chance to begin with.

Lauren fell back against her pillows, the screen renewed to its fixed image of the dense forest and reminding her woefully of the world she left behind. As she closed her eyes to avoid the onslaught of intrusive thoughts, she vowed to see her family again – to see Taylor smile through her chubby baby cheeks and Chris laugh like he was suddenly eight again. To see her mother's eyes well up with gratitude and thank the baseless God she still manages to believe in.

A few drops escape her lids as she sealed them once last time, drifting off into a sleepless slumber.

Her left shoulder felt slightly heavier by morning.

\--

The training halls were a harrowing coat of white, the air artificially sickening and nearly suffocating. Lauren was walking mindlessly towards the common room, following the fellow tributes in a singular line as if they were a conveyor belt filled with exploitive products.

( _Well_ , she shrugged, _it is not that far off of a comparison.)_

The common room was massive in size — the ceiling seeming to extend forever and the spacious area occupied by copious amounts of various training equipment and stations. Climbing nets hung loosely above their heads, weapons strewn amongst their designated areas, and anxiety gripping menacingly along Lauren's backside. She hated just how systematic this was – _literally_ being stuffed and prepped so that they were in optimal condition to be murdered. Just like a slaughterhouse; it was _sickening_.

"Easy." Lauren gasped as a hand graced her back daintily, Ally stepping past her and offering her a reassuring smile that sent serene waves against the rapids her stomach. She shot back a convincing smile to prevent the smaller tribute from worrying, all the while gripping incessantly at her pale skin until the skin gave way to fleshy pink. Again, her impending collapse was interrupted by a large hand gripping her shoulder calmly, bronze skin and sharp nails all too familiar for Lauren to look away.

Dinah flashed her own signature grin, albeit in a way that Lauren felt was more interpersonal and supportive. It almost felt familiar, oddly enough, like the two were already bound despite just now directly meeting.

 _Maybe that's what insurrection does to people_ , Lauren shrugged.

"Don't look so tense there, Ralph," Lauren quirked an eyebrow at the impromptu nickname, "we can sniff ya' out quickly." Dinah winked playfully, punching her arm lightly and murmuring a distinct ' _buckle up, Lauser_ ' before disappearing to the front of the crowd. Lauren furrowed her brows at the interaction, finding it strange just how sudden the girl had come and went. Nonetheless, she found an encouraging spark in her gut, inhaling confidently before pushing her way to the front of the herd as well; in the front were two supervisors, their pose rehearsed and expressions painted in sadistic pleasure. She noticed Dinah and Normani paired together on the other side of the crowd, their eyes honed in on the instructors before them.

(She didn't miss Normani's eyes darting to locate Ally, the latter currently transfixed on two stations that Lauren was unable to see.)

The instructors cut their spiel with a resultant _smack_ of their hands and release the tributes to train freely. The careers are the only group to organize into their own respective stations, leaving the rest of the flock to flounder around the cooking pot for the first fifteen minutes. Lauren opted to wander around the room (albeit aimlessly); however, watching the hatchets and knives and tridents burying themselves into faux-victims really did not prevent the lump in her throat from growing any larger.

Lauren heard Ally's chipper voice from the camouflage station and immediately dashed over to the box, ignoring the way her heart continues to pound against her ribcage.

"Lauren, honey, you need to calm yourself." Ally admitted abruptly, "you're sticking out like a loose screw." Lauren snorted at Ally's wording, earning her an affronted glare from the smaller teen. "Anyway," Ally flicked a piece of paint onto Lauren's outfit as payback, "it is better to remain hidden than frozen in plain sight."

Silencing a couple of giggles arising, Lauren eyed the amount of work Ally had put into blending her leg with the earthy brown, making it almost disappear all together. "Wow, you're amazing at that."

Ally beamed at the compliment, her smile giving off the an almost soothing effect on Lauren's nerves. "Thanks Lo! It's not my speciality, but it is still necessary." The pale Latina tilted her head at 'speciality', wondering just what the miniature rebel excelled in. Before she could ask, Ally was requesting for her to bend down to her level; Lauren complied, lowering onto her knees so that she was face to face with the girl.

"They release us for lunch in about three or so hours. Mani wants us to meet with her briefly then."

"Isn't that jeopardizing the whole plot, though?" Lauren inquired, her eyes drifting unconsciously to other two careers on the other side of the room.

Ally shook her head, beginning to drift her brush back and forth on her leg. "It'll be a brief check in. Besides, it might just be our one moment of mutual peace as people. Like we're in school, or something."

Lauren rolled her eyes, huffing irritably. "What a contradiction." Ally only chuckled in response.

"I need to get the constructing station, anyway. You, however," she shoved her finger against Lauren's chest lovingly, "need to go do something and not wander around like a lost chicken."

"Yes, Mom." Lauren quipped feebly, already peering around the room for another potential distraction from actually partaking in one of the training modules. Shiny axes caught her attention and suddenly her own feet were betraying her intentions, moving towards the weapons that ironically bestowed some degree of comfort with her. ( _How cliche_ , she ticked.)

Lauren graced her finger against the chilled metal, her own skin prickling at the sudden sensation of both literal and metaphorical ice. Grasping the handle tentatively, she extended the silver weapon forward, it's blade shining regally; wide, fearful pupils stared back at her through the weapon's mirror, their forest pools volatile with a mixture of contradictions and doubts. Lauren pitied the image, gnawing on her lip until the chapped skin broke apart.

Suddenly, reality merged with delusion, and as blood escaped into her mouth, the axe became drenched in pungent scarlet, dripping down onto the now grotesque floor. Heart thumping and eyes blown wide in terror, Lauren launched the axe instinctually, sending it flying into what she could see was the bottomless void. Shaking her head violently, the vision faded, and she was transported back to the cage of the training hall. Sweat accumulating at her brow and breath ragged, the green-eyed tribute surveyed her surroundings anxiously in hopes that no one saw her brief outburst. Luckily, the other tributes seemed to be unaware of her presence, each still preoccupied in their own endeavors.

Well, save for the one chuckling just mere feet above her.

Familiar brooding, hooded eyes hung lazily within the net above, an intrigued smile imprinted on the owner's delicate face. Again, Lauren saw those sinister butterflies swarming in her oak eyes and dubious smile, their innocence tempting her to travel into ancient forests that she dared not trespass. Camila was swimming in them, and Lauren wanted to explore every forbidden aspect about her – both the danger and the companionship.

( _The dragonfly was all-knowing – omnipotent and humble. Yet somehow, as the butterfly flies, its wings spontaneous and explosive, the dragonfly is blind, unable to control its own fabricated existence._ )

"You're pretty good at that." Camila mused, that ambiguous smile still plastered on her (pretty) face. Lauren eyed her suspiciously and muttered an awkward, "Thank you?"

Camila smirked, pointing towards the right; Lauren followed her gaze and gasped internally as she saw the steel axe embedded into the painted wood, its location only mere inches from the center. Lauren's check flushed a confident rose and she turned back to the elevated girl, the latter having turned onto her back and facing away from the (slightly) overconfident teen. "What, suddenly bored?" Lauren scoffed, crossing her arms and deciding that maybe falling into an obvious pit trap was not as daunting as she made it seem to be.

She heard Camila utter a sly chuckle and suddenly she was on her stomach again, analyzing Lauren through perceptive eyes and indulging in the nervousness that once again blossoms within her body.

(So maybe it was after all.)

"Your appearance tells a completely different story than your personality," Camila admitted, playing with a loose strand of hair from her ponytail, "a walking oxymoron, with some pretty wicked eyes."

Not exactly pleased with the double-edged compliment, Lauren glowered back at the shifty girl. "You sure seemed to have had a dramatic shift from your reaping tape, don't talk so big." Seeing Camila tense so unexpectedly amused her, giving her another sense of superiority over the brunette in this mental match they immersed themselves into. It went as soon as it came; relaxed and refocused, Camila shifted back onto her back against the net (much to Lauren's dismay; she really did enjoy watching the other tribute's delicate face.)

(She gave herself a mental reprimand. _Do not follow them_.)

"Touché," She relented, "but if you're this observant, why are you so compliant with this rebellion?"

Lauren stiffened immediately, fear wrapping her body in a binding noose. Eyes flashing in all directions, she flared in distress at the nonchalant teen. "Are you an idiot?!" She hissed, dropping her voice in a strained whisper to avoid any detection, "they can hear you, Camila!"

She felt the roll of the brunette's eyes, an exasperated sigh seeming to escape her lips. "Nobody cares for the lesser tributes, quit acting like you're so important." Lauren froze at the callous tone in her voice, not expecting the sudden turn in attitude from the smaller girl.

"That's all this rebellion is, Lauren," Camila rolled again, oak eyes a vehement black and swelled with scorn, "a way for the Careers to establish their own power – the privileged feeding off the weakened." Lauren moved to refute, but she is shut down immediately by Camila's ravenous eyes, venom dripping from her fangs and knuckles pale with restrained passion. "There is a reason a Career is operating this whole agenda and not one of _us._ They don't truly care about us; we're simply the pawns."

"So why side with _us,_ then?" Lauren spat back in disgust, her own loyalty to the cause renewing itself in storms that festered in her eyes, "if you're so against it, why bother? I saw you with those roses too – you want to be free too." Camila's eyes narrow expectantly, her body turning away from Lauren's once more.

"I am _not_ with you, so to speak; I am only following the stratagem of my mentor," Camila murmured bitterly, disdain oozing from her mouth, "plus, I have a sister to protect. Joining a budding insurrection? Rationally foolish, but gaining potential allies in a battle royale? Tactically ingenious."

"But when it ends?" Lauren challenged. Camila laughed in response, staring back at her with disbelief. "You're intelligent, Jauregui; give it a guess."

"and why are you revealing all of this to me?"

Camila opened her mouth but faltered, her eyes glinting in fleeting distress before regaining their stern composure. (Perhaps she had revealed too much, Lauren wondered.)

"Because," She began, that plotting smile forming sinfully on her lips, "you're just as ambivalent of this cause as I am."

Lauren growled lowly, frustrated that her internal conflict was so transparent. "I believe in liberation and justice – if we continue to follow the capital so helplessly, change will never occur. This is necessary." She lied skillfully, hiding the apprehension still so prevalent on her troubled mind. Luckily, Camila seemed to have bought it, as a disappointed front crosses her face and she's suddenly uninterested in the continuing the discussion any longer.

"Just wait till the actual games; true colors will be shown whether you see it coming or not." Camila balanced herself and made haste towards one of the net's openings; she gave Lauren one last warning look that was notably softer than expected. "You have someone to protect too; don't get engulfed by your own wildfire, Lauren."

And with that, she dropped onto the pavement easily, slipping off to a new station without a second glance.

Lauren huffed irritably, resisting the urge to charge back up the haughty brunette and continue the argument. She could not fathom why Camila was so resistant against the moment, nor did she understand why she had such a vehement distrust of Careers.

(Okay, _maybe_ she actually did understand why, but with as well as her interactions with Normani and Dinah had been going, she did not quite see the problem with those two in the slightest.)

Sighing tiredly, she turned her head to the lonely axe still stuck in the splintered wood.

She could have sworn she saw the fated crimson dripping from its blade, its shade sinful and foreboding.

(She did not expect the bile to pour from her mouth — caused by nothing but those bothersome butterflies themselves.)

\--

The cafeteria buzzed as if it were a old-aged school, choruses of laughter and hollering transforming the conventionally tense atmosphere into an affable, almost relaxing one.

Lauren thumped on the table with her finger, anxiously moving through a pattern to settle her thoughts and the remaining chills in her stomach. That signature maternal hand caressed hers suddenly and she flinched in response, only turning placid as she was pulled into Ally's reassuring ones.

"You okay, Lo?" Ally inquired worriedly, continuing to rub her shaky hand soothingly.

Lauren snorted sarcastically, flashing the smaller blond a weak grin. "If throwing up in the middle of the training center is anything, then no I am kind of not."

Ally frowned sympathetically, ceasing her administrations when Normani appeared by the edge of the table; Lauren noticed the distressed look in her eyes as she checked out her own status. Lauren offered an effortful smile, but judging by the tribute's questionable cock of the brow, she figured it was worth of shot any how.

As if enough was not happening in Lauren's peripheral already, familiar blonde locks and bulky body crashed into her side, almost sending her halfway across the rectangular bench. Glowering irritably at the smirking girl, she soon relished as Normani gave Dinah a harsh (but loving) tug on her curls, the latter gasping audibly and sending the rest of the girls into a snickering chorus. Dinah feigned a sniff, wiping the nonexistent tears from her eyes. "You guys are so rude, like, unbelievably so."

"Yeah, don't be so rude to Cheech!"

Lauren tensed at the voice, her brain trying to rationalize it as a mere delusion. Unfortunately, luck was never in her favor, and she crossed paths with those infamous brown pools again.

(They were different this time though; back to those bubbly, almost deer-like swirls of chocolate that she witnessed back in the Reaping recaps. She bit into lip, perplexed and still blinded by the cluster of wings blocking the light.)

Lauren swore she could see an amused glint surface in Camila's eyes before she returned to her amiable demeanor, her smile a fool's gold and a pure diamond all at once.

"Yeah," Dinah's booming voice pulled Lauren out of her thoughts, the former smiling confidently at Camila across the table, "listen to Chanch, she actually _cares_ about me."

A roll of her eyes and airy laugh aside, Lauren was almost certain the encounter with Camila just a few hours ago was something out of her imagination — a delusion manifested from the original one with the steel axe.

She shook her head profusely, trying not to get wrapped up in her own doubts as noticed Normani beginning to speak to the group. Lauren picked up on the rigid stature of her body, her normally relaxed (but equally poised) posture uncharacteristically absent; she was stressed and Lauren did not feel comfortable with that.

Before Lauren could chime in her own pessimistic addition, Ally voiced her own, "Mani, shouldn't we be more discreet about this?"

Normani let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples in frustration. "Doesn't really matter now, the rest of the careers are openly opposed to the idea."

"What?" Lauren blurted, flushing slightly once realizing her volume level. ( _"Loser." Dinah snorted under her breath.)_

"Yeah," Normani planted herself next to Ally, running a calloused hand through her thick curls, "all too concerned with their own safety than the lives of thousands of others, I suppose." Her next part comes in a stressed whisper, barely audible, "there is division back at home, something we did not prepare for."

"What do you mean?" Camila asked; Lauren noticed a challenging edge in her tone, but she ignored it, reflecting her attention back to the dark-skinned girl.

"Some of the richer factions – mostly former winners and noble officials – pulled their support from the movement. Details are scarce, and it's too risky to divulge on them fully here, but let's just say my district partner has been doing his own little business too. Our mentor has been keeping in contact with resources back home."

"That doesn't make sense...we devised–" Ally cut herself out abruptly, aware that she had been voicing her own thoughts. She briefly looked terrified, her shoulders rigid and eyes suddenly fervent. Lauren mentally jotted down to question her about it when she could.

"Well," Dinah suddenly spoke, stretching her arms up high and letting out an oddly relaxed yawn, "let's just focus on enacting plan B."

"Dinah," Normani chuckled awkwardly, glancing around the bustling area, "a little louder next time?"

Dinah rolled her eyes slowly, getting up and repositioning herself so that she was sitting on top of the table itself and blocking Normani; Lauren looked up at the bold blonde amused, smiling at the annoyed grunt coming from behind Dinah, and the calming giggles from Ally and Camila.

(She almost felt connected in a way – five girls pulled together for a revolutionary cause; it was soothing, inspiring even, even if three auras were so visibly clear while another remained obscured by dense fog.)

"Anyway," Dinah chimed, seating back in her original position next to Lauren, "we should reconvene later; I'm going to try and convince those stubborn brats otherwise."

Lauren raised an eyebrow curiously, "is that your definition of a Plan B?" Dinah flashed a cocky smile back at the green-eyed girl, hope fluttering brightly in warm eyes.

"You bet, Lauser."

Normani shook her head chuckling, rubbing at her tired face slowly. Lauren watched as Ally touched her shoulder with feather hands, caressing the swell of her back and whispering something inaudible; something exclusive to them, and Lauren swore she saw stars shimmering in Normani's dark eyes.

She expected to see Camila once she turned her head back, but the space was suspiciously unoccupied, as if the younger girl had been nothing but an apparition all along.

She sighed, laying her strangled head on the table and opting not to follow the glowing wings again.

\--

Sweat dripped off profusely from Lauren's forehead, beads hitting the steel floor graciously. Tucking a few loose strands behind her ear, she panted heartedly, her vision admittedly going slightly hazy and her lungs on the verge of collapsing. She _use_ to consider herself generally fit back in the woods – traversing through the thick foliage and sometimes climbing trees and all – but now that she spent at least forty minutes suffering in the gym's obstacle and speed course, her confidence was, frankly, shaken. Grabbing some of the spare water left for the trainees, she planted herself against the nearest wall, throwing her head back in bliss as she chugged down the ambrosia of the moment.

An ample laugh vibrated above her and she opened her eyes to see Dinah's cheerful demeanor hovering above her own. Bronze skin glistening from sweat (not as much as herself though, Lauren grumbled) and blonde locks tied back in a high ponytail, Dinah sat down next to the exhausted girl, legs crossed and stature unnaturally animated after such vigorous exercise. Lauren was amazed, and slightly concerned, frowning at how weak her body must be in comparison.

"Wasn't that exhilarating, Lauser!" Dinah, of course, beamed, and Lauren still felt like her whole body was caving in on itself.

"Um, I think I almost died honestly." She humored before taking another sip on her water, evidently choking on her it and sputtering against the wall. Dinah snickered beside her, patting her back roughly to remove the excess water from her lungs.

"Cross-fit not for you?" After shaking her head in a resounding _yeah no,_ Dinah laughed generously again, laying back on her hands as she faced Lauren. "Wow, you really are a loser!"

Glowering, Lauren squirted the remainder of the liquid onto Dinah's form, busting out into laughter when the taller girl squealed and scooted away from her. Shrugging innocently when the head trainers scrutinized both of them, she turned back to see Dinah returning in a scoot-of-shame back to her original place. "You're lucky tributes aren't allowed to fight, J-....Jeg-..."

"Jauregui." Lauren offered, amused at Dinah's eye-roll.

"Whatever. Point is, I would have probably beaten your ass."

"Nah, you're too soft for that D," Lauren does not notice the nickname till it rolls off her tongue, but she just flows with it, "maybe with other tributes, but not one of your loving partners in crime."

Dinah smiled fondly at her then, something unexpected; Lauren could not help but smile back as well. "Yeah, whatever Lauser."

She stood up then, offering her hand in assistance; Lauren gripped it (albeit weakly) and stood tall on unstable legs. She checked the gym's clock and stared at the time in disbelief: _5:27 P.M. (_ Was she in that god-forsaken maze for days?)

"Geez, we need to head back for dinner soon." Lauren heard Dinah sigh, scratching the back of her neck. Nodding in response, she silently prayed to what ever god was currently watching over them, because she _truly_ could not handle another training session of _any_ kind. She relaxed against the wall again, relieved sighs escaping her lips accompanied by a drowsy smile. Lauren felt Dinah's gentle eyes on her, the admiration and compassion exuding from the golden brown orbs allowing her to feel at ease for once (similar to Ally, but this was more of a sisterly radiance, as if she had another younger sister in Dinah herself.)

(She wondered if this would have happened regardless of their allegiances; Lauren would love to believe so.)

"Dinah," Lauren started, already regretting bringing up the potentially compromising question. Dinah shot her a curious glance, a silent permission to let her continue. Lauren gulped, carefully crafting her next few words, "we don't know too much about each other, I understand but...would you have worked with me the same if we weren't already indirectly acquainted as we were?"

It's a few moments of awkward silence before Dinah busted into full smiles and squeezed Lauren endearingly, the smaller Latina flushing generously at the sudden rush of affection.

"D'awww little Lauser loves me so much alreadyyyy." Dinah cooed teasingly, releasing the girl and smiling wider when Lauren shot her an embarrassing huff. "In all seriousness though, I have my own moral code, Lo. Everyone is just a friend you haven't met yet in my book, plus it's good to spread compassion and encouragement, no matter the environment. I've been chatting it up with damn near everyone here – we're all in this together, right?"

"Yeah, suppose we are." Lauren giggled easily, beginning to walk with Dinah towards the memory stations where Ally and Normani were currently residing in deep conversation.

A sharp _ping_ infiltrated her ears and with a slight glance to her right was four daggers being thrown impressively into the poor targets – one hitting the bullseye, the other three circling alongside the outer edges.

"Dinah.." Lauren began, eyes transfixed, undeterred.

She watched as Camila picked up another set of the copious weapons, adjusting the blades between her fingers and correcting her aim. In an instant, the daggers were dislodged for her fingertips, each blade hitting the mutilated target with precision and lethal speed. Lauren felt herself mesmerized, time slowing around her with her own vision focusing on the tribute once more.

"Yeah, Lauren?" She registered Dinah's reply at distance, as if it came from miles in a foreign direction.

She could have sworn she saw the enigmatic brunette smirk arrogantly in her direction, but maybe that was just her imagination.

(Probably.)

"How did you get close to the girl from District 12?"

She heard Dinah's signature chortle, "that's my own little secret, love."

 

\--

 

Lauren flopped unceremoniously onto her lone bed, breathing out a day's worth of frustration and exhaustion. Mere minutes after returning from her near death experience in the training room, Zara and their escort had bombarded her with multiple questions and suggestions regarding her prime interview at the end of the week. The interrogation (they eventually dragged Brad into it as well) lasted all throughout dinner and, unfortunately, all throughout her spare time after and she was just returning to her bedroom at a welcoming time of 11:30 P.M.

She snatched the nearest pillow and forced it on her head, groaning audibly into its softness and hoping it was suppressed enough to not garnet anybody's attention again (Lauren honestly has had enough of human contact for one day.)

Of course, that was way too much to hope for, and a timid knock on the side of her wall elicited another irritated grumble from the tired girl. "Go away Zara, I told you we would talk about it tomorrow."

Brad cleared his throat awkwardly, "Um, try again, Lauren."

Lauren shot up abruptly, discarding the crumpled pillow and staring at Brad as if he was a ghost. She grimaced internally at her rather flustered and pathetic appearance, becoming immensely self-aware and resorting to hugging the next adjacent pillow to her chest in an attempt to calm down. ( _For the record, it did work_ , she ticked smugly to herself.)

“What do you uh, need, Brad?” Lauren inquired, her voice cracking awkwardly in front of the younger boy. Apparently unfazed (much to Lauren’s relief), Brad treads tentatively into her room, settling on the edge of her bed almost woefully, as if he was weighed down by something heavier than his age permitted. She often forgot how young the male tribute was compared to herself – a young soul snatched so ruthlessly through the thin veil of peace and into a world of horror. Frankly, she could not see herself in his shoes and found it increasingly difficult to empathize with the boy; they were in the same position, sure, but in two separate worlds – two pathways diverged by the fatalistic forces she still had a difficult time believing in.

Still, she scooted over to the obviously troubled boy and attempted to wrap an arm around his shoulder in hopes to soothe his worries; he stiffened almost on reflex and Lauren frowned in resolution, dropping her arm back down and opting to just listen to him without the reassuring contact.

“You’re committing suicide, y’know,” he scoffed disbelievingly, continuing to look down with darkened eyes, “not to mention endangering your entire family and maybe our district in general.”

Lauren knew exactly what he was referring to and registered the returning flame in her stomach causing a near chemical reaction with the unstable nerves bundled beside it. Brad stared back discreetly, expectant for a response (one Lauren chose not to disclose); he let out a cynical snort before continuing.

“It’s pointless; you really think trusting a Career will end up with you on a victory tour?”

“How can you ever concur with the idea that justice is ‘pointless’?” Lauren spat, eyes flaring in fierce jade and fists clenching into the bed’s fabric. His words echoed of Camila’s haunting rhetoric – to the point that she could almost picture the brunette’s fox grin and whimsically deceitful laugh floating throughout the room.

Brad did not even attempt to challenge her, his eyes a permanent gray and drained of all energy. It sent raw chills down Lauren’s spine; if this is what compliance entailed, she morally refused to ever back down from her stance now.

The young boy simply sighed and stood up from the comforter, beginning to scurry away from Lauren’s undeniably impassioned aura. Naturally, she reached out and gripped Brad’s limp arm, disturbed at how lifeless the limb felt in her shaky hands. “You can’t let this consume you, Brad,” Lauren pleaded, prying into the barren wastelands that dominated the young boy’s eyes, “you need to awaken your fighting edge. There is more to this than just being in a cage.”

For a second, Lauren believed that she could see a glint of hope in Brad’s eyes; it was faint, fleeting even, but Lauren could definitely feel and see the faint outlines of what was a budding desire. A _desire_ to spread wings that have been caged for far too long and roamed through familiar forests far too many times. She wanted to pull this desire out by the beak, nurture it and let it soar amongst the rebel air that was brewing amongst them. She was nearing it, within its reach that she could see it materialize within those fading eyes.

She’s reaching too far when the boy’s arm is ripped from her grip and she cranes up to find that desolate pools of gray resignation stare back at her in furious pity, mocking her for even believing that the chance of conviction was possible.

“You’re a blinded fool for believing anything otherwise!” Brad growled, fists clenched white and tears building in his eyes. Lauren stepped back, afraid of the hopelessness that was near tangible in the now tight bedroom space. “It’s a selfish fight! We’re all going to die anyway, how _dare_ you and your whole crew put your own family _and_ possibly other people’s lives in jeopardy too!” Her body froze at the vicious words poured from the young boy, her heartbeat pounding in her ears with a brash _thump thump thump._

Brad stormed out the room with haste, shutting the door harshly and leaving Lauren in a state of eerie silence.

But her head and heart remained active, interconnected and pulsating erratically with a new kind of inspiration that even Lauren was shocked to discover. She was not mad, nor was she discouraged or disheartened.

Lauren was _empowered_ , ignited with a furious will to protect those he dared to say she would let perish; eyes a dangerous mottled green and fists clenched, she walked over to the nearest wall and sent her left first flying. She did not feel the collision – all she felt was the power that electrified her veins and the passion that coursed throughout the ridges of her mind. Moreso, she felt _unstoppable_ . They: the people, the rebels, _everyone_ , had the power to assemble and rise against their masters; she had a purpose in this cause and she was not going to allow anyone to convince her otherwise.

(Once the euphoria dissipated, she crumpled to the ground holding her bruised hand, laughing and crying simultaneously into Zara’s form who, of course, came to check on her after a rather rude-ish vibration literally shook the wall next to her room.)

Lauren sniffed and crinkled her eyes and continued to let out carefree laughs in light of her epiphany; Zara looked like she was about to call for professional first aid and Lauren, frankly, could not give two shits.

_The dragonfly had regained her soiled wings, ready to fly._

 

\--

The training days flew by and before Lauren realized it, they were a day shy of the final scoring and she was sweating bullets thinking about it. Sure, she had spent countless hours honing her apparent axe affinity and improving her stamina within the obstacle courses (with Dinah’s assistance), but in no way was a week long enough to prepare her for the games itself. Even though she was fairly content with her abilities, there was absolutely no way she was ready with her _get-a-perfect-score-or-die_ mentality. _Oh lord._

Ignoring the creeping thoughts of insecurity, she focused her gaze on Normani not too far away in a sparring session with one of the trainers. Over the past couple of days, Lauren had found out that she and Normani shared an almost uncanny sense of identity; from the way their minds functioned to how they (used to) spend their leisurely times, she rationalized that they _had_ to be twins separated at birth, or at least from a different universe or something. Normani was her complimentary opposite – a platonic soulmate that was _her_ but in ways that she can only dream of. She was personable, professional, and in resonance with her emotions, something Lauren _definitely_ had to improve on after she maybe lives through this.

(Normani had blushed immensely when Lauren suggested such a notion, waving away the crazed idea, humble as she was. Lauren frowned and had flicked a piece of her lunch onto her face, much to the former’s dismay and subsequent pout; she gave her a cheek peck as an apology, relishing in Normani’s faux-disgusted face.)

She watched as Normani effortlessly dodged each thrown punch, ducking and sliding in a manner that almost rivaled a rehearsed dance. Her eyes were darkened and focused, seeming to register the trainer’s every move (even ones undealt) and formulating some way to counter it. In an instant, her toned leg shot out and collided with the trainer’s left foot, sending him crashing to ground with a _thump_ and a breathless Normani standing confidently before him. She must have noticed Lauren’s undivided attention, proceeding to send her a playful thumbs-up in response and a suggestive wink. Lauren openly rolled her eyes at the display, sending a thumbs-down back and laughing at the affronted look on her friend’s face.

“Stop teasing Manibear, Lo.” Ally jokingly scolded, jabbing her in the side and making her way over to the exhausted victim. Lauren sighed happily at the two, noticing the increasing closeness between them and picking her own fun at it whenever she got the chance (like when Ally would stop her own focused construction modes just to stare at Normani in the obstacle courses, or when Normani would be smiling dopily when Ally was lost in her world of memorizing plants or building another fanciful device.) She appreciated the pair tremendously, feeling as if they indirectly saved her from turning into an apathetic mess that her district partner had succumbed too.

(She cannot lie: she still had her innate reservations frequenting her mind, but they were far more disconnected than ever before. Her doubts will always remain, but she had the confidence and ambition to at least go down trying than holding up a white flag from the sidelines.)

Turning her head, she witnessed Dinah chatting energetically with three other tributes (the ones they had successfully recruited over the past couple of days). They all chuckled in return, each probably exhibiting the first real laugh they’ve had in a few days; Dinah’s gregariousness had that effect, pure genuineness and compassion proving to be a rather formidable force. Lauren was pleased that the new rebels had both Dinah and Normani to confide and reassure in, knowing that her own sentiments would have probably stressed them all out even more.

There was one of the tributes who joined that she was especially interested in, a silver-haired, petite young woman from district 5 that went by the name Ariana. She was demure, charismatic, yet equally as fierce and outspoken as any career would be. She drew parallels to Camila (dare she mention) in a way, but was greatly more open and genuine with her approaches then the dubious former. Lauren had spoken to her on a few occasions and found that was incredibly insightful and easy going, spouting philosophical challenges one second and giggling at crude jokes the next. She appreciated the light presence Ariana seemed to give and hoped to find her still kicking even after the game’s commencement.

What she did not appreciate, however, were (again) those familiar enchanting butterflies floating above her in the nets, smirking down at her failed attempt of remaining oblivious. Lauren had successfully avoided any tense confrontations with the smaller Latina ever since their first interaction, but it would be false to say that she had not been missing the brunette’s presence. She was still unbelievably intrigued with Camila’s true persona and she wanted to uncover the rest of her, not just the facets only used for the war ahead.

“Talking face to face just isn’t your deal, huh?” Lauren quipped nonchalantly, looking off to appear aloof. She heard the mysterious girl chuckle lowly (yet the sound was pure music) and suddenly Camila was dropping down from her hoisted paradise, smirking at the surprised look now crossing Lauren’s face.

 _She’ll play her little game again_. “Well, way to prove me wrong, Camila.”

“It’s my speciality, Lolo!” She countered condescendingly, an opposing glint in her eye and mischievous cock in her smile. Lauren despised and was enthralled with it all at once; it would please her to no end if she could just knock that cute patronizing smile off her doll face and-

( _Anyway.)_

“Don’t call me that.” Lauren hissed weakly, trying to maintain her callous front, “Don’t act as if we were anything more than just business partners.”

Camila lets out a disgustingly endearing laugh, and Lauren can feel herself crumbling at her knees; she gives herself a firm mental slap, _don’t fall for the tricks don’t fall for the tricks don’t fall-_

“Oh, sweetie, you’re _sooooo_ cute trying to act tough!”

 _-for the tricks_.

Camila strolled closer to her in a casually stride, grinning at her through those sinister fangs and brown orbs flickering with unsolvable secrets and abnormalities. There is something so, _so_ fascinating about her operations and how Camila exists that sends Lauren in a daze; she cannot follow her into the depths of the void that masks her entire essence, yet that’s all she wanted to achieve and perform since the minute she saw her on that blackened chariot the first day.

Camila is a confounding variable in this whole scheme that Lauren just cannot figure out, and she is still unsure if she should travel down the forbidden road that has tempted her since the Reapings.

Out of her brief reverie, Lauren looked to see that Camila had inexplicably vanished from her viewpoint; feeling disappointment riddle in her chest, she scanned the area for any sign of the enigmatic brunette, frowning when the nets and even the knife section turned up short.

However, her search proved futile when she saw her perched on one of the obstacle course’s hurdles, laughing generously with Dinah, Ally, and Normani. Unease nestled in her stomach, she strolled up to the four with an awkward gait, smiling inwardly when Ally beamed her way and gave her a gentle embrace for good measure.

Camila waved at her modestly too, flashing her a friendly smile and a peace sign. Again, those menacing butterflies were flocking around her oak pools and again, did she see her hand reaching out to grasp them.

\--

 

Lauren sat anxiously on the frigid metal seat, rocking back and forth on her rear as she waited to be called for assessment. She breathed easily (relatively speaking) and only had one minor attack this morning, so she felt as if she was making some improvement. Still, the thought of showcasing her _‘show-stopping’_ , utterly _spectacular_ abilities to a bunch of sadists really did not prove to be such a likeable thing. She felt disconnected, as if she was nothing more than some product; only a temporary tool used to satiate the bloodlust that the Capital indulged in.

She shook herself fiercely, rationalizing that this would all be over soon and she will never have to fear for anybody’s life ever again if this is successful.

 _Correction_ , she reprimanded, _it will be successful._

Boiling resolve founded in her stomach, she arose to her number being beckoned, walking hesitantly to the white light that glowed with treacherous hue. Lauren knew she was staring into the eyes of death itself, walking into her grave and beginning to make a bed for her own soul.

She would make her own bed alright — with flames dancing beneath her feet and cries of victory dominating the crisp air.

The revolution was imminent, budding at her soles and leaving petals throughout the wind. Thorns snaking around her limbs and embedding themselves within her heart.

It was the most alive she’s felt in years.

 

\--

 

_Camila sauntered into the training hall, chin high and face leveled, peering at the judges above with an indiscernible expression. They chattered and bellowed and payed no heed to the lithe girl, having grown bored of the evaluations since the afternoon._

 

_Camila ticked, frowning considerably and strolling over to pick up a couple of her signature daggers, a fond smile arising in her face._

 

_Five blades within her palm and she does love to name them all._

 

_Her own little tools, ready to betray it all._

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess who’s ugly ass decided to actually finish its ME anyway im sorry this is disgustin and highkry rushed ive been feeling so guilty for making yall wait so long ;;;;;;;;; sorry again its been like Decades good lord but im kinda in the middle of sorting myself out (i am mentally ill so thats kinda why ive been putting this off) and ALSO applyinh for college and what not so thats….fun (not really)
> 
>  
> 
> Ummm okay so like...im finishing my college shit up this week so i should have more time to update faster but we’ll see lmfao thanks for all those who stuck around yall chill honestly….ilu!!!
> 
>  
> 
> as for 5h material in general um….kinda up in the air rn. i dont plan on doing any further chaptered fics on my own at least and any one shot material will most likely be laurmani or #theAdults based bc i am a Sucker! But i suppose we will see! Anyway thanks for reading througj this mess and catch me on the flipside
> 
> im open to talk on my wattpad (dopelaurmani) or 5h tumblr (dopelaurmanis) so yeah! :^)
> 
>  
> 
> -pixel/max


	4. AUTHORS NOTE (will delete when next update)

wooo okay guys, max here and im um i have a few things to share

 

 first, ill have an update before christmas probably, i promise lmao. my semester ends this thursday and ill be halfway done with senior year! wow! amazing

second, iuno the future of 5h yall ill be completely blunt about it i dont think theyre lasting that much soon sadly and when it inevitably happens, u will probably not see me still writing fics for them anymore sorry. ill def finish this story up but after i would seriously only expect brief one shots and drabbles. ill probably go back to my fanbase account for games and shows so ill tell yall wht it is when the time comes (if ever)

thats mostly it, sorry its slightly depressing but i did feel bad leaving this story hanging. it will be worth the wait ok,,,,,hopefully

thank u for ur support!!! 

\- max


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